


just 'cause you can't see it doesn't mean it isn't there

by CharlotteDaBookworm



Series: Regisson AU [2]
Category: Final Fantasy XV
Genre: Fluff and Angst, Gen, Nyx Ulric's Self Esteem, Ring of the Lucii, Royal Bastard AU, pre-time travel
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-10-04
Updated: 2019-10-04
Packaged: 2020-11-22 20:41:15
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 5
Words: 4,231
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20880356
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/CharlotteDaBookworm/pseuds/CharlotteDaBookworm
Summary: “Nyx?” A voice asked and he turned to look at his oldest friend and brother.“Hey, hero. Have I got a story for you…”Nyx puts on the Ring. Fate spirals out from that point





	1. The Ring

**Author's Note:**

> I don't own FFXV. Title is from One More Light but Linkin Park

* * *

“Show yourselves, Kings of Lucis!”

The world faded to darkness.

The darkness lit up, illuminated by pillars of light as – one by one – the ancient, spectral Kings appeared, surrounding him on all sides. He pushed himself up, as shiver going down his spine as he forced his body as upright as he could manage with a bullet in his chest and gods knew how many broken bones; he refused to have this conversation while flat on his back, dying on the ground, with ghosts whose very presence whispered _threatenemythreat_ at his back.

This wasn’t how he’d wanted to meet his ancestors.

Then again, he’d never wanted to meet his ancestors. _Any_ of his ancestors; Nyx knew very well where – what, _who - _he came from and just how much blood stained his lineage. But he’d make do.

He glanced around as subtly as he could as the Lucii spoke, unable to help himself, telling himself that he wasn’t looking for King Regis- for the man who had been his king, who he’d failed so horribly, who he’d been forced to watch die, who had been his-

_No_, Nyx told himself, _he wasn’t looking for King Regis_.

The unspoken lie was bitter behind his teeth.

“How long-” he gasped out as the Lucii finished their little speech, as he processed their words and felt anger flare because how could they- “How long will you do _nothing_ whilst Insomnia burns?!” Nyx tried to shove himself to his feet – because the Lucii might be immortal spectral giants capable of swatting him like a fly but Nyx had always felt better about screaming at beings who could murder him with a thought when he could stand – ending up doubled over in pain instead as his chest _burned_.

Fucking bullet. Fucking Luche. Fucking _traitors_.

“Old, or new, or whatever it is,” he continued when the pain had retreated enough for him to breathe, “_Summon your wall!” _They stared at him, these so-called _Kings_, and Nyx wanted to sneer because what sort of kings were they? These ghosts who chose to let their city, let their _country_, fall instead of defending it. These ghosts who would prefer to watch their people die rather than grant even the slightest bit of help. The mere thought of it– it went against everything he believed in and he had never claimed to be anything he wasn’t. So how could they call themselves kings and then stand back and do _nothing?_

Nyx decided that he hated his ancestors.

“**YOU DO NOT COMMAND US. YOURS IS NOT ROYAL BLOOD.**”

And at that, Nyx blinked, genuinely shocked. Really? _Really?_ He could feel them and he knew they could feel him and how could they not know? He blinked again. Not one of the 13 refuted the statement. Did they seriously not know?

He wanted to laugh at the entire situation – would have done, if not for the pain that radiated through his chest and how he hated broken ribs.

So much for them being all-bloody-knowing.

**“IT DOES NOT FALL TO US TO GUARD YOUR CITY.”** A different set of ghostly armour spoke up, this time from behind him, and Nyx nearly passed out from the pain of trying to turn around to give the figure the look he felt they deserved because seriously.

_His_ city, right. Fucking **kings**.

**“MAN IS A FOOL CREATURE,” **Yet another Lucii began, forcing him to turn yet again and didn’t they realise he was dying here and that this _hurt_. He laughed then because they probably just didn’t care.** “CLINGING TO HIS PAST AND COWERING FROM HIS FUTURE. WASTING HIS STRENGTH ON BYGONE DAYS.”**

_Wow. Bitter much?_ The words were on the tip of his tongue, his eyebrows already half raised at the king, before he realised that maybe he’d lost more blood than he’d thought.

“And what future are you wards of?” He demanded, forcing an elbow beneath him to prop himself up so that he could stare them in their glowing eyes, his voice echoing around him as he stared at these figures who were supposed to be _kings_ but happily sat back and watched as everything was destroyed around them.

Not one of them seemed to care.

Storms above, Nyx really fucking hated his ancestors.

**“SO SHORTSIGHTED. AND CURSED TO NEVER RISE ABOVE IT.”** And that was the Mystic, he was sure of it, and it made him want to _snarl_.

Nyx didn’t need to hear that from him of all people. Not when he knew-

**“WAIT.”** A new voice called, one who had stayed out of the arguments so far, and Nyx froze at a voice that he knew well, the voice of the man he’d watched die mere seconds- _minutes, hours_, he didn’t know anymore – ago. **“I HAVE SEEN WHAT THIS BRAVE SOUL IS PREPARED TO DO.”** King Regis, Nyx’s- the King of Lucis said. **“HE, TOO, SEEKS TO SAFEGUARD THE FUTURE.”**

The words echoed with an absolute faith that Nyx didn’t deserve, not when he-

“Your Majesty,” he whispered, holding back everything else – the torrent of words that caught in his throat, that he had never wanted to say so much – by sheer force of will.

Because, here and now, having watched the man in front of him be murdered by someone who Nyx had followed, who he’d _trusted_, Nyx regretted.

He’d never spoken to the King because he didn’t know _how_, because he’d feared being rejected when the man realised what a failure Nyx was, because he’d tried so desperately to convince himself that he didn’t need or want a-

He’d never spoken up because he’d thought he had more time.

Nyx laughed silently at himself, bitter and sharp. He always thought he had more time than he actually did. And he never managed to say what he needed to say to those he cared for before it was too later. So many he cared for had died with those words still trapped in his teeth and Nyx…

He was just cursed like that, he guessed. Cursed to watch those he loved die and speak the words he should have spoken long before over their graves.

**“VERY WELL, YOUNG KING. WE WILL WEIGH YOUR WARRIORS WORTH. BUT OUR BOON DOES NOT COME CHEAP. THE COST IS A LIFE. HIS, OR HERS.”**

The world itself was still faded away but Libs and the Princess sharpened into focus – frozen in the same moment that Nyx had last seen them like some sort of film poster – and he _refused_.

No.

“_No.”_ He wanted to scream but he was so damn tired. Nyx took a moment to just breathe, drawing on his reserves, drawing on the familiar agony beneath his skin, and pushing the pain from his mind – he was dying already, what did it matter in the long run anymore? “To _hell_ with your power!” He yelled, ignoring the way it made his head pound. “I’m not here for it.”

He didn’t want their accursed power, wanted nothing to do with the abilities that had been granted to them by the Dragon God, wanted no boon from these _monsters_ of kings. He did not want it and he refused to sacrifice someone else to them so that they would finally do something.

Nyx would allow himself to burn, would reach into his soul and release every binding he’d fought so hard to create, before he did that.

Before he gave in and let them win.

“I only came to tell you,” he said, starting to laugh despite the pain, his eyes bright with mirth and oh, Libs was going to kill him for this if he somehow survived it. “_You are no kings._”

And he laughed, and he laughed, and he laughed.

He couldn’t breathe and his ribs were killing him – or maybe that was the bullet – but he still couldn’t stop. He didn’t even know what it was that he found so funny, not really, but Libs had always told him he had weird reactions to certain death.

(But it was either laugh or cry and he _refused_ to cry in front of these so-called kings)

**“YOUR WORTH HAS BEEN WEIGHED AND FOUND WANTING.” **The Mystic thundered, obviously pissed, and still Nyx couldn’t stop laughing.

It was actually _funnier_ now. Just- the sheer irony of it all. The irony of this man, this man who usurped and murdered his own _brother_ for a throne – and at another’s behest even – calling him unworthy.

Nyx couldn’t even bring himself to be offended; it was so hilarious.

**“NOW, _BURN._”** Somnus Lucis Caelum ordered and the pain that flooded through him like a tidal wave was familiar, like a childhood blanket draped over his shoulders.

Rolling onto his back, Nyx tipped back his head and _laughed_ – uncaring of the way his skin prickled and burned. It was nothing he hadn’t felt before. “Unworthy, am I?” He asked between gasps of breath. “Not of royal blood, am I?”

Nyx grinned, all bloody teeth and vicious eyes, tilting his body so that he could stare directly up at the supposed Founder-King of Lucis even as ghostly blue fire lit his skin alight, alike and unlike the green flames that burned in his veins. “Can you not even recognise one of your own line, _Great-Grandfather?”_

Silence.

His hand stopped burning, the flames gone.

He continued to laugh, the sound echoing triumphantly in the sudden stillness.

**“WHAT.”**

“I asked you, o’ false king, o’ killer of your own kin, if you were really so senile as to not notice when one of your own blood stands in front of your nose.”

**“YOU MEAN TO BARTER FOR YOUR LIFE.”**

“No, no,” he shook his head, laughter tapering off, and he lifted his chin. “No, old man, whether I die here and now matters little at this point. And my life, unlike theirs, is my own, to do with what I will. I merely wished to speak to the one who sired me.”

And Nyx allowed his magic – begging to be used, boiling beneath his skin with the same constant pain that Nyx had never known life without – to rise to the surface, letting his eyes bleed green and his magic shout his heritage who all who could sense it.

**“SIR ULRIC. Nyx…”**

He turned to look at the figure who had spoken and had almost tentatively come closer, propping himself up on an elbow once more with what little energy he had left, drawing on the magic that was already leaving little burns on his skin. “King Regis.”

_Father_, Nyx didn’t say even if the world was heavy on his tongue, because his use of the title depended fully on the other man’s decision. Because Nyx may have known about Regis for early his entire life, couldn’t remember a time when he hadn’t known of his heritage (when his magic hadn’t raged under his skin until he couldn’t breathe, when he hadn’t had to deal with the constant ache in his chest that made him feel like he was being crushed) for all he’d sworn to have nothing to do with any of it for a portion of his childhood, but Regis had just had a second child dumped on him, shortly after his own _death_, and one that he might not want in any case.

This– any of it, all of it, none of it – it was until to Regis.

**“Why did you not say anything?”** Regis seemed almost _sad_ behind his helm, or maybe Nyx was just imagining things that he’d hoped for, that he wanted to see.

He shrugged. “It wasn’t my place, Your Majesty.” He said with a smile that was almost sad because he knew – they all knew – how Insomnian nobles viewed bastards. _Just above us_, Luche had muttered once and he wasn’t wrong. Nyx made himself meet his sire’s eyes under the helm anyway. “Besides, I’m just a bastard-”

**“You are my _son_.”** The King interjected; his tone vehement. He blinked. **“The circumstances of your birth change nothing.”**

Nyx paused, stunned, blinking slowly. That- that was actually a far better reaction than he had ever dared _hope_, and even if it was only because the man had just died, even if it was only because Nyx himself was dying, he still couldn’t help but wish…

Shaking his head to chase away thoughts of could-have-been’s, Nyx smiled again, brighter this time but definitely sad. “I think, your majesty, that I would like to have you as my father.” He dropped his eyes. “I’m sorry…” He trailed off, not really sure what he was apologising for.

For not trusting the man enough to tell him the truth years ago, maybe? Or for not giving them the opportunity to have a relationship as father and son, instead of just as a King and his glaive.

For letting him die, for doing nothing but watching as Glauca killed him?

Or maybe it was all of that and more. Maybe it was everything – every missed opportunity, every never-had conversation, every chance lost due to Nyx being a coward.

Yeah.

_Yeah, _everything - that sounded about right.

Nyx was just. He was sorry.

He wasn’t all that different from his ancestors in the end after all, was he?

Regis shook his head, attracting his attention and drawing him out of his thoughts. **“No, Nyx, it is I who is sorry. I am sorry that you never felt as though you could tell me.”** Nyx opened his mouth to interrupt, only to fall silent at the _look_ that the- that his- that the King gave him. **“Know that I love you and that I am proud of you, Nyx. And tell Noctis – tell your brother – that the same is true of him when you see him once more.”**

**“Good luck and Godspeed, my son.”**

And then, before Nyx could respond, before he could do anything, the world _flared_ back into focused and Nyx moved with the grace of the healthy – tossing Drau-Glauca aside with lightning that came from his own magic as much as it did the Ring.

He ignored the familiar flare of sharp pain in his chest, glancing down at the ring that twinkled on his finger and pulling it off; rolling it in the palm of his hand. “Thank you, father,” he murmured, clenching his fist around the Ring momentarily.

“Nyx?” A voice asked and he turned to look at his oldest friend and brother.

“Hey, hero. Have I got a story for you…”

* * *


	2. Nyx's Regrets

* * *

“I was named for you, you know.” He murmured into the ring in his fist, watching as the stone of it twinkled in the starlight.

Libs and Lunafreya were sleeping in the tent and Nyx was on watch – because old habits died hard, even in the safety of the havens that scattered the mainland – alone for the first time since he’d slipped this ring onto his finger.

He leaned against the car, his blood bubbling with grief, his heart full of regret, clutching the ring like a lifeline.

“Nyx Regulus,” he rolled his name across his tongue, tipping his head back to stare at the stars with a grin that was half bitter and half old grief. “Little King in the Darkness. Or, she liked to joke, the Night’s Sky born of a King. Mum- she always said it was out of spite, y’know? Naming me after someone who didn’t even know I existed. And I wouldn’t put it past her, mum was just like that, but I know it wasn’t the only reason. Family- Family is important and mum made it so that I would always carry a part of you with me, no matter where I went.”

“I wish…” He whispered into the silence of the night, looking out at the desert with unseeing eyes. “I wish that I hadn’t been such a coward. I wish I’d told you earlier, that I’d given you a chance to listen, that we’d had a chance to actually work things out. I wish we’d had more than those minutes in this damned ring.”

His lungs ached and his eyes burned and his shaking hands gripped the ring so tightly he almost feared it would snap.

“_I wish that I’d given you the chance to be my father_,” He said into the wind, chest heaving with the silent tears that tracked down his face.

He didn’t speak again, even as the moon fell and the sky brightened and the sun rose, even as Libertus and the Princess stirred and awoke. He spent the rest of his watch ‘til dawn in silence but the tears continued to fall and his grip on the ring never wavered.

In the darkness of the night, Nyx regretted.

* * *


	3. Noctis' Truth

* * *

A figure dropped down in front of them.

Noctis had a sword in his hand before he registered Ignis’ hand on his shoulder, holding him back, and recognised the tired smile on the familiar face standing before him.

The familiar face of a man who had been pronounced dead, alongside the rest of the Kingsglaive.

“Nyx?!”

“Hey, little King.” The glaive said softly, the lines on his face far more pronounced than when he’d seen him just two weeks ago.

He flinched.

Nyx’s smile softened, his eyes understanding, and Noctis could feel himself sag under that gaze even as he drew strength from it. “My dad?” He asked, unable to keep the hope from seeping into the words because if Nyx was alive then maybe-

The glaive shook his head, smile falling, eyes dark.

Noctis’ world crashed down around him again. He should have known, Nyx had called him _King_, but still…

His dad was dead.

“I’m sorry,” he murmured before- almost hesitating and Noct didn’t understand until he continued. “He asked me to tell you that he loved you and that he was so proud of you.”

He swiped at his eyes, once, then twice – trying to get rid of the burning, trying to shove down the anger that his father hadn’t _told him himself_.

Nyx caught his hand, pressing something into his palm and then stepping back, stepping away, like he’d been burned.

When he looked down, his father’s ring was in his hand.

His chest ached like he’d been underwater for too long.

Noct looked up at Nyx, having no idea what he was supposed to do, what he was supposed to feel, how he was supposed to be a _King_.

His friend’s lips lifted at the corner in a half-smile. “C’mon, I’ve got someone else who wants to say hello to you.” As he spoke, he gestured back and to the side with his head.

“Libertus?” He asked even as he looked, knowing that Nyx wouldn’t be far from the other and they’d always gotten along fairly well, and then his eyes caught on the small café tucked into the corner of the street.

The small café and the blonde who was grinning at him from her seat beside Libertus.

Noctis smiled.

* * *


	4. Libertus' Duties

* * *

Lightning flashed, shaking the windows, and the sudden crack caused most of the room to flinch violently in the lamplight, hypervigilant.

Libertus sighed.

“That the Old Man or you, hero?”

His brother scrubbed a hand down his face, his sleeve slipping to show the edges of healing bruises and shiny burns and the darkened veins that said his idiot of a best friend needed to use some magic at some point or things were going to get bad. He’d yell at him about that later, he decided. “Me, probably. _Fuck_.” Nyx muttered tiredly as another bolt crashed down, a slight tremor to his hand that he tried to hide as he pulled it away from his face.

Pain or exhaustion, he wondered silently, eying his brother carefully before he decided it was a mix of both combined with grief. It probably didn’t help that the Prince- King, he was the King now - hadn’t left him alone since they’d found him and then collected the Marshal.

Nyx had never been good at grieving around other people. Especially when he felt he didn’t have the right to be grieving. Because Nyx was an idiot.

“Get some sleep Nyx, I’ll fill ‘em in.”

“You sure?” He said through a yawn that was half-faked, as though hiding his face would mean that Libs wouldn’t know how terrified he was.

He stood.

Libertus rolled his eyes. “I got your back. Go sleep, before you accidentally blow something important up again.”

“_One time_, it happened one time, I haven’t done that in _years_…” Nyx’s protests faded away as he left the room, leaving Libertus with a group of curious Insomnians watching him. Leonis was seated in the corner, watching them all with eyes that saw too much and Libertus especially with a silent demand for information.

The things he did for his brother.

“So?” Amicitia demanded, arms crossed across his chest and a glare on his face.

“How did you escape the city, Sir Ostium?” Scientia cut his friend off, his words polite but his eyes sharp as he raised a pointed eyebrow.

Unintimidated by the kids, Libertus sighed. “Nyx put the ring on.” He said bluntly, deciding to just jump right into things before any of them got the idea in their heads to go wake Nyx up. “Drautos was General Glauca and Nyx put the ring on when he was about to kill us and killed him instead.”

They blinked at him.

Leonis raised an eyebrow.

He shrugged. It wasn’t a mission report but so what. He wasn’t a glaive anymore and, even if he had been, the glaive was gone. Quick and to-the-point was good enough.

“If Sir Ulric used the ring,” Scientia sounded out, exchanging looks with the others, “then how did he survive?”

Libertus took a deep breath, opening his mouth to answer the Prince’s – King’s now, and he was still just a kid, all of them were, and Libs couldn’t help but sympathise despite the hate he still held for the boys father – advisors question, to spill his brother’s secret that had been kept for over thirty years, only to be cut off by the Marshal.

“Because he’s Regis’, isn’t he.” Leonis’ gazed was steady as he looked at him, both of them ignoring the shocked exclamations of the kids, and it wasn’t a question- not really.

He was certain he was right.

And Libertus couldn’t tell him he was wrong. “How did you know?” He asked instead because nobody – _living_ – outside of Galahd had known before today.

On the other side of the room, the Prin-King choked, the blond- Prompto patting him on the back dramatically even as he kept an eye on the entire room – smarter than he looked, that one.

“I served King Mors before I did Regis,” Leonis said simply. “Ulric has his grandfather’s eyes.”

“Wha- are you saying that Nyx is my _brother_?!”

He looked at the kid – because that’s what he was, right now, a kid – who was staring in disbelief (and a little hope and a little anger and Libs understood both) and he sighed again.

“Yeah, kid. Nyx is your brother.”

* * *


	5. Regis' Loss

* * *

Regis watched his sons.

He couldn’t interact with them, couldn’t speak with them – that time with Nyx had been a fluke, possible only because not one of them had realised the relations and _oh_, Regis has regrets about that – but he could watch over them.

He could watch over Noctis as he grieved, as he grew angry, as he became uncertain. He could watch his boy with Aulea’s eyes as he grew into a man, as he bonded with his retinue, as he clung to his friends.

And he could watch Nyx. He could watch the son he never knew he had – and how he wished he had, how he regretted that he had somehow managed to look at Nyx and overlook the features they shared, overlook how his own father’s eyes stared back at him – and now that he knew he could think back on a dozen times when Nyx might have looked as though he was about to bring something up before backing away but then again, Regis didn’t know him.

Regis didn’t know his oldest son and it hurt.

So, he listened.

He listened as Nyx held the ring close and whispered his secrets into it – and how Regis’ heart soared and fell at the knowledge that Nyx had been_ named for him_, he knew how Galahdians were about names – and he wanted nothing more to wrap his son into his arms.

But his hands fell through Nyx’s shoulders when he tried and Nyx-

Nyx cried and he was so full of the same regret that filled Regis and, if he could cry alongside him, he would.

Instead, all he could do is watch.

Instead, all he could do was think back on every conversation he’d ever had with Nyx Ulric and _wish_ and _regret_ what they might have – could have – had if only Regis had been able to convince Nyx to trust him enough. The big brother that Noctis should have grown up with, the son he should have known years ago, the presence that he should have been in Nyx's life - Regis regretted that his own actions had led to a lack of it all.

Regis Lucis Caelum watched his eldest son mourn for things lost and, as a ghost at his side, he mourned with him.

* * *


End file.
